More Than the Sea and the Sky
by pheonixfeather94
Summary: She was a princess with a heart for adventure, trapped in a cage of duty and obligation. He was a favorite of luck and happy circumstance, the newly-appointed lieutenant in the king's royal navy. Their paths were never meant to cross, their stories never meant to intertwine, but fate has a funny way of unraveling even the best-laid plans. AU Lieutenant/Duckling
1. Chapter 1

She had never been a fan of heights.

Perhaps she might've been, at one point, but a particularly nasty incident with a large tree in the palace courtyard and a broken wrist had remedied that possible affection quite quickly.

Gritting her teeth, Emma tugged once more at the knotted sheet, checking for the third time its stability. Satisfied—or, rather, as satisfied as she could bring herself to be in the current situation—she pulled in a deep breath. On the exhale, she let herself fall back off the window ledge.

The burn of the soft cotton sheet against her palm was familiar, as was the constricting tightness around her upper thigh, where the material was threaded to hold her weight.

Slowly, carefully, she worked her way down the outer wall of the castle until, finally, several minutes later, her feet hit solid ground once more. She unwound the sheet from her leg, tucking it instead beneath a nearby bush. With a quick glance around the courtyard, she lifted the hood of her cloak over her head, and was off into the night.

The trek to the docks was a short one, and thanks to the late hour, she found the path deserted. She slipped silently between the rows of moorings until she found herself in front of her final destination.

A wide grin spread across her face, and, casting another quick look around for safety, she grabbed hold of the gangplank's railing, pulling herself aboard.

The ship was beautiful, gleaming in the moonlight, all polished mahogany and creamy sails. Her fingers trailed lightly along the wooden planks as she stared in wonder at the marvel that was the naval fleet's newest flagship.

"I'm not sure the king would take kindly to trespassers aboard his newest crown jewel."

The sudden voice startled her, and she spun around, careful to keep her hood in place.

The lone figure of a man appeared at the top of the quarter deck, clad only in shirtsleeves and trousers, hair mussed. A scabbard hung at his side, the bejeweled hilt of a sword peeking from the top, and she felt her pulse jump into her throat as the levity of the situation landed heavily on her chest.

She was alone, save for this man, and weaponless, an easy quarter click from her father's castle in the dead of night.

The man took an easy step forward, his gait loose and a smile in place on his face, but his eyes were hard and calculating. She felt herself swallow reflexively as she realized how the situation was presented—in her boots and breeches, cloak thrown over her mass of golden curls, she must've looked every bit the thieving vagabond. And the man, whoever he was—likely some sort of hired security—seemed to have a vested interest in the safety of the ship. She had no choice but to expose her identity, and hope for the best.

Summoning every regal molecule her body could muster, she pulled back her shoulders, straightening her stance as she shook back the hood of her cloak.

"It's quite fortunate, then, that the king and I are on speaking terms."

The man froze, eyes narrowing slightly, before a chuckle broke free of his lips.

She blinked, caught off guard.

He crossed the distance between them in three short strides, and she reeled back automatically, stumbling into a crate of ammunition in her haste. She felt the pressure of the railing against the small of her back, felt the terrifying pull of gravity on her body for a split second before a calloused, work-roughened hand closed around her wrist and righted her.

She was speechless, breathless as she stared up into his startlingly blue eyes.

"You should be more careful, milady," he murmured, releasing his grasp. She caught a hint of rum on his breath, and surmised that he either held his liquor incredibly well, or he'd hardly begun drinking, as his eyes were clear and sober as hers. "That cargo is much more forgiving than many foes you would encounter at this time of night."

He stepped back, and she brought her wrist up to her chest, unconsciously circling the place he had touched with trembling fingers. Now that he was closer, she could see the kohl rimming his strangely piercing eyes and the small silver ring hanging from the puncture in his right lobe, a light dusting of facial hair along the square of his jaw.

"I daresay your father has no knowledge of your midnight escapades, then?" he queried, one corner of his mouth lifted up in a patronizing half-smile.

Irritation shot through her at his evident condescension, and before she could censure herself, she was shooting back, "And what would you know of my father and his knowledge?"

Both of his eyebrows lifted, and his infuriating half-smile stretched into a smirk. "Quite a bit more than you might think, darling."

She stiffened at the endearment, drawled lazily in his southern lilt, but before she had a chance to reply, he had lifted a placating hand.

"Save the verbal spar for another time, Princess. I do believe it's far past time we return you to your home."

Her expression must've blanched, because he paused mid-step, his brow furrowing when he glanced over at her. "What is it?"

She felt tears threaten to spill over, and a flicker of anger shot through her chest at the sensation. She bit down on her lip, hard, and forced her gaze away, breathing deep of the thick ocean air. Her eyes traced along the clean lines of the ship, the very same ones that she had seen drawn across parchments and tacked up on the Council Chamber's walls, the ones that she had consented be constructed.

The ship had been completed for an entire fortnight, its crew amassed and its mission delivered. She herself had performed the formal christening as her first act as courtier, had spoken the very words that ordered its departure for the following morning.

And yet, she had never seen it with her own eyes.

She didn't hear the man's approach, only his voice when it sounded behind her. "I'm sure the captain would be agreeable to an escort upon his return, if the lady wishes."

She jumped, startled, though she managed to keep her footing as she spun once more. He was much closer than she anticipated, however, and her reply lodged in her throat as she looked up at him, mere inches away.

His expression had softened into something understanding, almost sympathetic, and she felt herself bristle at the fact that this man, whom she had known only for a few short minutes, could so easily read her. She schooled her features into a scowl.

"That won't be necessary. I've more knowledge of each inch of this ship than the good captain himself has, I assure you."

She managed not to wince as the fib fell only slightly flat. The man, however, had less control over his growing grin. She steeled herself for his retort, but he only held out his hand to her, dipping down into a respectful bow.

"As the lady says."

Purposefully brushing past his extended hand, she crossed to the gangplank, and descended it easily. As she started down the dock, another set of footsteps joined hers, and she rolled her eyes.

"I'm perfectly capable of returning myself to the castle, thank you," she called, not bothering to turn around.

"If you really think I'd let you go off into the night by yourself, then you're not only a stubborn lass, but a foolish one as well."

The insult pulled her up short, and she cast an incredulous look over her shoulder. "How dare you—"

But she didn't get to finish her protest, as in the next second, his arm was wrapping around her midsection, tugging her back up flush against his torso. Before she could even process what was happening, his other hand had hooked through both of her elbows, pulling them up and back sharply. His foot wound around the lower part of her calf, and with a sudden yank, she found herself face down on the slimy surface of the dock.

One of his knees pressed down into the flesh of her thigh, effectively pinning her in place, and she hissed, trying in vain to kick her way out from under him. "What are you—do you have any idea what I could have done to you? Unhand me!"

"I'm merely showing you, _Princess_," he huffed, his breath a hot puff against the shell of her ear, "how easily you could be overtaken, should you cross paths with the wrong sort."

His words gave her pause, and a thrill of panic shot through her at the thought. She was indeed lying prone, and while she had received some training in hand-to-hand combat, she was clearly no match for the man's brute strength and superior skill.

He loosed his grip when her struggling ceased, allowing her enough freedom to flip over onto her back, though he still kneeled above her. His eyes narrowed curiously as he canted his head to the side.

"You haven't even a dagger, have you?"

She felt her cheeks flush furiously, and she was happy for the darkness that would hide the evidence of her embarrassment.

He snorted, reaching a hand down into the lip of his boot, from whence he produced a handsome bone-handled knife. He held it out to her, waving it impatiently when she didn't immediately take it. Cautiously, she pushed herself up into a sitting position, reaching out a hand to close her fingers around the small dagger.

She turned it over in her palm, admiring the whetted blade, and before she could reign the words back in, they had left her mouth. "Who are you?"

Her eyes flicked up to meet his, and the depth of emotion she saw there—the darkness, the self-loathing—trapped the breath in her throat.

He blinked, and in the next second, it was gone, replaced instead by a hardness that belied nothing and a tight smile. "No one you need worry yourself about, milady. Come." He pushed himself back on his heels, holding out a hand to help her up in the same motion. She took it, allowing him to pull both of them up at once, and furiously trying to ignore the way her heart tripped at the feel of his rough palm sliding against hers.

Once she was steady on her feet, he took a step back, and she glanced down at the front of her clothing, expecting to see it ruined by the sludge of the docks. She was surprised to find, however, that only her cloak had been dirtied, and she realized with a start that when he had pushed her to the ground, he must've wrapped the cloak tighter around her body, protecting the breeches and tunic beneath. She lifted her head, mouth opening in a murmur of thanks, but he brushed past her, cutting her off before she had the chance to speak.

"Come," he repeated, starting off down the dock. "Let's get you home."

Reluctantly, she fell into step beside him. His walk was easy, casual, but his eyes were sharp as they swept the expanse of land before them, and she didn't miss the way his hand rested against the hilt of his sword. His alertness put her on edge, and she drew her hood back over her head.

He cast her an approving glance. "Stay close," he murmured. "And keep that knife handy."

She huffed, but otherwise kept quiet, straying no more than an arm's length from him as they traveled the well-worn path to the palace gates. He stopped just outside the circle of torchlight, turning to face her.

"You'll be safe from here?" he asked, and she nodded, reaching into the pocket of her cloak for the dagger he'd loaned her. When she tried to hand it back to him, however, he waved her off.

"Keep it," he insisted. "I've plenty more where that one came from."

Her eyes flickered down to his boots and she arched a brow, pursing her lips. His soft chortle was her reward, and she herself couldn't keep from grinning as he swept into a low bow before her.

"Until the next time, milady," he murmured, pressing a searing kiss to the back of her knuckles. She drew in a quick breath that sounded embarrassingly like a gasp, and she saw, to her utter chagrin, that his eyes were dancing when he straightened once more.

He took several steps backward, headed for the blackened tree line, and a strange sort of desperation took hold of her as she realized that she would likely never see him again.

"Wait!" she called out, following him a half-step, and he glanced back at her with both brows raised. "You never told me your name, sir."

He hesitated, tongue darting out to wet his lower lip as his eyes flashed over her shoulder to the castle walls.

"Hook," he finally said, gaze returning to hers. "They call me Hook."

She nodded, a small smile pulling at her lips. "Well thank you, Mister Hook. For both the accompaniment and the…_stimulating_ conversation."

He flashed a quick grin, all bright teeth in the darkness. "The pleasure was mine, milady, I assure you."

And with that, he turned, loping off into the trees.

She stood at the edge of the palace grounds for a long while, staring after the direction he had gone, musing about her very non-pedestrian encounter with the strange man who called himself Hook.


	2. Chapter 2

The first thing that Emma was aware of was the soft _whoosh_ of the curtains being pulled back.

The second was the conspicuous lack of blinding light, which meant only one thing: it was early.

Groaning, she rolled to the side, hefting the blankets up over her shoulder. She buried her head farther into the pillows, holding her breath and counting down for the moment she knew was coming.

_Three, two one—_

"Highness?"

She let out a huff, but remained otherwise immobile.

"Highness?"

Paige's voice sounded from much closer the second time, and it was mere seconds before Emma felt the blankets being carefully peeled back.

She opened one eye and glared at her handmaiden. Paige merely grinned.

"Come, milady. I'm to have you dressed and down to breakfast in little more than an hour."

Reluctantly, Emma pushed herself up, reaching a hand up to smooth over her hair. She blinked owlishly in the sudden light of a lit lamp, and regarded the still-dark sky through the window. She felt as if hardly more than a handful of hours had passed since she'd climbed back through the frame.

"What time is it?" she asked, rising automatically when Paige reached out to help her up. "Why am I needed so early? Has something happened?"

A thrill of panic shot through her at the thought of impending danger, but she quickly brushed it away; her parents would not insist she dress and breakfast if there were any threat to the castle.

"A quarter of five, milady," Paige answered promptly. "Your father requested your presence at the _Jewel_'s send off."

She felt her shoulders drop, and her heart with them—yet another royal ceremony to attend. Yet another day spent in stuffy clothing, her back aching under the pressure of a corset and the weight of hundreds of eyes. Yet another speech not penned by her hand to be read in front of a crowd who might not even comprehend the message.

With a sigh, she stripped down to her underclothes, and allowed Paige to lead her over to the dressing table.

-/-

Her parents were not alone in the breakfast room.

She took note of the fact mildly, with the same interest as one might impart upon observing the day's weather, as the courier bowed her through the double doors and proceeded to lead her to the generously laid table in the middle of the room.

Her mother looked up from her plate and offered a smile, reaching out for Emma's hand as she sat.

"Did you sleep well, my dear?"

Emma flashed a tight smile of her own—her head was already beginning to ache under the weight of an obscene amount of hairpins—and allowed the waitress to fill her plate. "Like a log."

Her mother's expression turned a touch disapproving at the blunt language, but she couldn't entirely hide the mirth in her eyes.

A loud laugh burst forth from the terrace, and Emma's head automatically swiveled to take in her father's familiar broad-shouldered stance, and the unfamiliar forms of two men dressed in naval whites. She cocked an eyebrow, idly curious, as her father reached out to clap one of them on the shoulder.

"Come," she heard her father say, "Let us eat."

The three men turned, and Emma's heart stopped.

On her father's immediate right was a man she recognized from countless council meetings. His dark, tightly curled hair was trimmed close to his scalp, though he'd let it grow out some since the last time she'd seen him, the ends just barely brushing the collar of his captain's coat, and his gray-blue eyes twinkled happily as always, the skin around their edges crinkling up as he caught sight of her.

She didn't have the wits to smile back, because her eyes were already locked on the man next to him.

The scruff was conspicuously absent from his jawline-as was the kohl from around his eyes-and he was dressed smartly in a lieutenant's jacket and cravat, but there was no mistaking the mischievous smirk and the startling cerulean of his irises.

He caught her eye, winking surreptitiously, and her fork slipped from her fingers, clattering loudly to the floor.

"Emma?"

Her mother's concerned voice startled her from her staring, and she felt her face flame red as a servant rushed forward to replace the fallen utensil.

"Thank you," she stammered. "I'm terribly sorry, please forgive me. I-I-wasn't expecting guests," she finished lamely. Her eyes flickered over the table, between her parents, refusing to land anywhere for longer than a second.

Her father's placating hand landed gently on her shoulder, squeezing reassuringly, and she stilled, pulling in a deep breath.

"Emma," he began as if nothing had happened, and she was once again grateful for her father's gift of subtle insight, "You remember Captain Jones, of course. I'd like to introduce you to his younger brother, Lieutenant Killian Jones. Lieutenant, my lovely daughter Emma."

She could do nothing but blink, speechless as he—_Lieutenant Killian Jones_—sunk into a graceful bow before her, lifting her hand from the table's edge and pressing a delicate kiss to her knuckles, in a gesture not unlike the one he had performed the previous night.

"Lieutenant Jones," she repeated faintly, struggling to reconcile the picture of the man in front of her with the one her mind held of a loose white tunic and leather pants, windswept hair and flushed cheeks. "What a pleasure to meet you."

She felt his smile against the back of her hand, briefly, and wondered at his audacity; but then, when he straightened up, his face was the picture of earnest sincerity.

"The pleasure is mine, milady, both to gain your acquaintance and to serve."

She blinked numbly, once, before forcing another smile. "Of course, sir. How gracious of you."

He bowed again, though not quite as deeply, and she responded in kind with the expected nod of her head.

Light conversation bandied about the breakfast table, moving from topics such as the weather forecast to the renovation plans for the second floor library and lacking enough real gravity that Emma was neither forced to reply nor engage. She merely sat dumbly as her four companions chattered, trying—and failing, she was sure—to keep her face as neutral as possible.

_Hook_, he'd told her the night before. _They call me Hook._

How convenient that he'd forgotten to mention that he was also called Lieutenant. Must've slipped his mind.

She snorted, and four pairs of eyes turned to survey her curiously—well, three were appropriately curious, and the fourth was entirely too knowing.

She felt the heat creep up her neck yet again, and she offered a small, apologetic smile. "Forgive me. I must've swallowed wrong."

Her parents and Captain Jones seemed placated enough, and soon they turned their attentions away. The lieutenant's gaze, however, kept flickering to her over his water glass. He managed, once, to catch her eye for the briefest moment, and he quirked a subtle brow—silently asking after her wellbeing, after whether or not he would be forgiven.

She huffed under her breath, tilting her chin up and away, casting her eyes out over the terrace, past which she could see just the tiniest sliver of the rising sun.

-/-

The walk down to the docks was, in stark contrast to the previous night's, a long, drawn out affair with much pomp and circumstance.

She followed her parents on horseback down the winding trail road that led from the castle walls down to the sandy beach, trumpeters and jesters weaving their way through the procession that also included the _Jewel_'s crew. At each turn of the road, more townspeople joined in the march, and soon, the crowd was huge.

As a child, Emma had always loved the processionals, and she had longed for the day when she would finally be able to ride astride a beast of her own, instead of tucked safely in front of her father on his saddle. Then, she had turned sixteen and permission had been granted her to ride by herself, and she had realized just how much of a stress it really was.

Her parents made it look so easy, their faces beaming and joyful as they waved friendly welcomes to their subjects, gliding seemingly effortlessly through the sea of people.

Emma had found out quite quickly that it wasn't as simple as it looked. She had to constantly be mindful of the children stepping close to her dappled mare's hooves, and keep her wits close enough to watch for the stones and pocks in the dirt path, the flowers and streamers that were thrown on the ground before her as a sign of love and respect from her people also providing a perfect opportunity for tripping her horse. She had to keep the animal calm, while inciting excitement among the crowd, all while maintaining a genteel smile, and riding side-saddle in heavy brocade, her breaths limited by the pinch of a corset.

Her horse hit a particularly loose patch of gravel and skidded, bouncing her in the saddle, and she hissed through her teeth as the boning of her dress dug into her hip. Not seconds later, she felt the sticky warmth of blood trickle across her skin. Her evening would be spent tucked away in her bedchamber, she knew, a damp bundle of herbs pressed to the laceration, but until then, she still had several hours of riding and standing.

She grit her teeth, trying as best she could to keep the expression on her face just short of a grimace, and shifted her weight onto her other leg.

-/-

The cool sea breeze brushed gently across the exposed skin of her collar bone, caressing her face gently, and she sighed into the familiar scent of the ocean. At once both heady with fish and sharp with the tang of salt, it was a smell she associated with spending quiet hours in her private rooms, the east-facing doors and windows thrown open to catch the fresh air. It was a scent that brought her comfort, and some measure of serenity—both things that she desperately needed as she stood at the head of the docks, flanked by her mother and her father, the entirety of the village spread on the gentle hillside around them and the embarking naval officers kneeling before her.

"People of the Enchanted Forest!" Her voice range out, strong and clear, and she was relieved that her words were nowhere near as tremulous as her fingers seemed to be. "We are gathered this fine morning to bid farewell to the officers and crew of His Royal Highness' _Jewel of the Realm_."

She paused, waiting for the wild applause and cheering to subside before continuing. "Though it is with hope and prayers that we anticipate their expedient, successful return, we fully comprehend the dangers that we are requesting these fine men face in their faithful subservience. Bearing this in mind, we have chosen a captain whom we believe to be in possession of wit and valor in equal measure. Captain Liam Jones, please rise."

The captain stood obligingly at ease, stance wide and shoulders straight, hands clasped neatly behind his back. She took several small steps toward him, accepting the ceremonial scepter from the footman at her side, and touched it lightly to each of his shoulders.

"Go forth, Captain Jones, and serve your king well."

He dropped into a low bow, murmuring back the traditional words, "I will do as I have been commanded, your highness."

He stepped back into line, and Emma's heart jumped into her throat as she turned to the next man. "To the Captain we entrust the task of choosing a first lieutenant. Captain Jones has chosen to stand by his side Lieutenant Killian Jones, in the hopes that he will prove to be a clear judge of character and hold in his highest esteem the well-being and safe-keeping of his crew." The rehearsed, spoon-fed lines felt strange in her mouth, incongruous with the picture of the man she held in her mind. The man kneeling before her in his starched uniform, hair combed carefully into place—_Lieutenant Jones_—was such a far cry from the man who had kept her from tumbling overboard the night before, the one who had tackled her to the ground and offered up his dagger, but none of his secrets.

She heard her father shift behind her, the soft noise breaking her from her internal soliloquy, and she swallowed, blinking twice rapidly as she scrambled to recover herself. "Lieutenant Killian Jones, please rise."

He stood, taking his place dutifully in front of her, and when his chin tilted up, she was completely caught off guard by the level of intensity in his gaze. She was suddenly back on the deck of the _Jewel_, Hook mere inches away from her, and the breath caught in her throat.

Her hand trembled when she reached for the scepter a second time.

"Go forth, Lieutenant Jones, and serve your king well."

His head and shoulders dropped low in his bow. "I will do as I have been commanded, milady."

His term of address, while still within the realm of appropriate, was enough of a deviation from the standard script to cause a low murmur to rise from the closest townspeople. He gave her one last, lingering look as he straightened up, and it was almost imploring, but she had no earthly idea for what he could be asking.

He turned on his heel, returning once more to his place, and she took a shaky breath before calling forth the next ensign.


End file.
